Blame Me, Sakurako
by hellostonesfan
Summary: Teague is much more than the notorious pirate many acknowledge him to be. Realizing his own death is near, he composes a memoir he believes to be his first and only chance to apologize to the one person dearest to him, but it's not who you think it is...
1. Introduction

It was once said a child must bury their parents, not the parents to bury the child.

Unfortunately, there are times where the parents must bury the child.

For many, it is a formidable thought, yet it is a indiscernible reality those many face. The Angel of Demise swoops down on his prey, feasting upon their souls like a raven ripping the meat off of bones with its beak, and we, the beloved ones of the deceased, are left to mourn and weep and sob and moan for their improbable return. Nothing else can be done, and the only things to remember the dead are the memories, the guilt, and a headstone with a name that would soon fade away as time passes, forever forgotten to human mankind. You may think, my dear fellow reader, who I imagine to have at least one close person in your life, what else could be more horrible? Perhaps, the guilt of knowing that the death of your loved one was obliviously preventable?

I am a old, writhed man; a old, writhed man who has done many horrible things; who has stolen, who has cheated and lied, who has tortured and killed his enemies in unimaginable ways; you may think as perturbed, mad even. However, I am a old writhed man who is past his prime. In just a few, short years, I will be one of those whose name will be faded away as time passes. Here I sit, writing what will be my first and last memoir, though I will not be talking about my crimes or my pirating past. In fact, I do not even consider this to be a memoir; I would rather prefer this to be as a acknowledgement--a plea-- to the very person who, for a very short span of sixteen years, had managed to change my life entirely; sometimes, for the better, sometimes for the worse; but overall, managed to surround herself around my finger in ways I would never imagine a child would do. Her name was Abigail, but many knew her by her stage name, "Sakurako", the name given to her by Tomoko, her nurse since she was a child and her geisha instructor since her early adolescence. You see, my Abigail was certainly not the healthiest, nor the quickest, nor the smartest since she was born. My wife, Claretta, and I struggled to raise our daughter, who was dear and precious to us, until Claretta's premature death, and my episodes of amnesia began a few years ago. Despite the many conflicts, I can proudly say that Abigail, though dying at just sixteen a few weeks ago, had a happy and full life. Yet, I feel rueful; conscience-stricken, because knowing that even though she was in poor health and knowing that she was not going to live for a very long time, I feel as though her tragic death is my fault. It was my responsibility to look after her and take care of her, but I did not. I feel, as of right now, a failure at being a father and a disgrace to others for breaking the promise that I had took, the role as caretaker for my frail child. So, here I sit, writing about my sorrows, imagining what would have been if I was at least a little more obliged to my Abigail. Blame me for her untimely death, but the only person who I will allow to find me at fault is Abigail herself.

So, my precious child, blame me. Reproof me for my fault. Blame me Abigail; blame me, Sakurako.

* * *

A/N: Short, yes? I promise there'll be more to come the next time I update. Please R&R, if you have the chance.

~Arigato Gozaimas, hellostonesfan


	2. Just Perfect

My long forlorn tale begins on one of my voyages nearly seventeen years ago. My crew and I had just begun another journey after taking a short break at our safe haven of Madagascar, where I had found out that Claretta was three months into pregnancy. Then, it had nearly been thirty-three years since we had our first and only child at the time, Jack. Be that as it may, this pleasant surprise did not go in silence, and I would proudly boast about the news to anyone who dared to hear. Soon, the word of Claretta and I expecting our second child after over three decades seemed to spread everywhere. You can assume that I was enthusiastic about becoming a father again, because I assure you that I was, regardless of the unknown pain my unborn child would soon bring.

There was one particular night were my crew and I had found ourselves in the tiny, yet brutal pirating town of Tortuga. After working all day at the docks, repairing any damage that may had been done to the Misty Lady, we decided to stop our work for the day and spend some time at the Faithful Bride. The night was warm and humid, and the small pub was crowded with other pirates and wenches. It was not long before the usual brawl broke out, soon accompanied with sounds of guns going off, people jeering them on, and the band playing a cheery tune, unfittingly joining in as the uproar's soundtrack. I seated myself by the bar, watching the commotion with amusement and disgust, sipping rum. As the long night went on, I drank more and became reserved with my thoughts. I wondered about Claretta and the pregnancy. It had been a long time since she had given to birth to Jackie. What would be the possibility of something going wrong? I had heard that sometimes a child may be born defective if the mother had given birth to it if she was older. Then also, would things end up like with Jackie? He had ran away when he was still just a child, nearly tearing the family apart. I began to worry. Setting my drink down, I slowly stood up from my seat and exited the Faithful Bride, making my way to the Misty Lady for the night. However, my walk was short-lived, when I heard one of my crewmembers calling me. "Captain! Captain Teague!"

I turned around. There was my crewmember---a stout man by the name of Hermes--who was accompanied by a woman with wild dreadlocks and was heavily disheveled.

"Captain, this woman claims to know you," he said, motioning to her.

I held up my hand in thanks. "Thank you, Hermes." He nodded and left me alone with her, who had a wildly concerning look in her eyes. Recognizing her, I said, puzzled, "Calypso?"

Calypso, then in the form of a woman known as Tia Dalma, simply smiled and said, "Do not act so surprised, Captain Teague."

"What are you doing here, my dear?" I grabbed her arm and walked her into a dark alleyway, to obtain some privacy.

Her smile faded, and her voice dropped to a dull tone so fast I did not notice it at first. "I am terribly sorry if I have caught you at a bad time, Captain."

"Of course not, my dear," I shook my head. "Is something wrong? Why aren't you at the Pelegosto Island?"

A rueful look came across her face. "Captain Teague, I have some very tragic news I have found out just a few days ago--" she started out.

"What is it? It isn't Claretta, is it?" I asked, trying as best as I could to not show my perplexity.

"No, it is not your wife," she answered, but before I could breathe a sigh of relief, she said, "It is about the child she is carrying. Your daughter."

"My--My daughter--?" _Claretta and I were going to have a girl? _

"I was practicing the runes a few nights ago, not expecting much to happen, when all of a sudden--" She paused for a moment, before saying, "I noticed something that seemed wrong. It was something I have never seen before while practicing the runes."

"What was it?" I asked.

She said simply, "The illness of a child."

There was silence for a few moments. Then, I asked her, "So, you are saying that my daughter will be--?"

"She will be born with her illness," Tia explained, "and there will be a mark to prove it."

I stood there, silent, staring at her face, feeling uneasy. _A mark? What kind of mark? _

I asked her, but she just shook her head and said, "You will find out soon enough, Captain Teague. But I can tell you, it will not be easy to raise your daughter the way she will be. It is a very serious illness, which will not only affect her life greatly, but yours as well."

Her words resonated throughout my head the rest of the journey, tantalizing me. I wondered about what she had meant about what she said; some sort of marking that would represent my daughter's illness. Would that mean she would be born defective? Would that be the only thing wrong with her, or would there be an underlying illness? And if that was the case, will we be able manage it? Or was there nothing to help her? I spent many restless nights worrying about my poor, unborn daughter, wondering if it could had been either Claretta's or my fault that she would be the way she would be. Hopefully, I told myself, there will be something Claretta and I could do, and I prayed that the passage I was on would end quickly. However, it actually lasted another nine months before we landed back in Madagascar.

When we finally reached back to Madagascar, I helped unload our goods quickly before rushing to the house, where Claretta was standing on the front porch steps, waiting for me. Her face lighting up, she rushed towards me and embraced me for quite some time. Letting me go, she took my hands into hers, and I saw that her stomach wasn't round and swollen.

"You already gave birth--?" I asked, feeling uneasy once more.

She nodded. "She came three months ago, while you were away. She was asleep the last time I checked on her. Do you want to see her?"

Fear flooded at the thought at what I might find when I would see her, but I nodded and answered, "Yes…I want to see my daughter."

Still holding onto my hand, Claretta led me inside our house and up the stairs, into a room that was painted all yellow. A white, handsome-looking crib sat underneath the window, where little, gurgling sounds came from. Claretta let go of my hand and walked to the crib and picked up a healthy-looking baby wrapped up in a pink blanket.

_So, Tia was somewhat right, _I breathed a little easier as Claretta emptied the baby girl into my arms. The first thing I checked was if she had all ten fingers and toes. When I reassured myself that she did, I ran my fingers across her round, bare stomach to check for bumps (to which the baby girl laughed at), and when I reassured there were none, I finally got a good look at her face. And I froze.

Behind a mound of dark-brown hair, was a large birthmark. It spread across the left side of her pale forehead, onto the side of her left eye. It was reddish-purple in color, and it looked as though it was embedded deep into her skin. She looked at me curiously with her mother's peridot-colored eyes, and with one of her thick arms, she reached up and pulled my hair. Smiling weakly, I brushed her hand away, and looked up at Claretta.

"Does she have a name?" I asked her softly.

She smiled back at me sweetly. "Abigail; 'a father's joy'. Doesn't it sound fitting?"

I looked down at the little girl named Abigail. Brushing her hair away to look at her birthmark more, I said flatly, "Just perfect."


	3. Little Abby

Claretta fully explained to me later on that night that the local medicine man had fully assured her that Abigail's birthmark was only a birthmark and that it should cause no harm to her. "He had said that Abby's birthmark was mostly likely caused because I was probably scared by something during the time I was pregnant with her," she said, somewhat garrulous. "He also added that quite a few babies are born with her type of birthmark, though most are unlike hers, but he said that it is rare for the baby to have something terribly wrong with them when they have a birthmark such as hers, so we should not worry."

I sat in the armchair nestled in the corner of our bedroom, slumped over and laden. Though I wanted her words to put me at ease, my feeling of being at fault was obstinate. I slowly worked the pipe in my hands in between my lips, staring into the depths of the fire burning in the fireplace, and puffed out a stream of tobacco smoke. "I still worry," I admitted in a low tone.

"So do I, Love," she sighed. "I feel as though we need to look at this in the best light we can get, though, for Abby's sake, and for the sake of the family."

I sat up and put the pipe aside. Stretching my arm out, I motioned her over to me. She looked puzzled for a moment, but walked over. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her close to me. She let out a small shriek of delight, her eyes lighting up. Smiling ruefully as I felt her hold my hand that was on her waist, I whispered, "I am not going to let my Abby become the object of pasquinade."

"Of course she will not be. Her father is one of the most respected pirates of the Brethren Court and of the world," Claretta said with a feigned smile. "Do you actually ponder the thought of others talking badly about Abby, knowing how powerful you are?"

"Sometimes, I wish that certain situations like ours are like that, but we need to be sensible about this," I replied. "The thought that no one will be talking about Abigail badly, I would find incredulous."

"Well, you are right," Claretta sighed again, and she rested her head on my shoulder. "And it's not as if we are going to keep Abigail's condition a secret: everyone knew that I was expecting."

"Also that," I agreed with her, "we can't be doing that as well. If we do, there's no doubt that the news would reach to everyone eventually."

Claretta turned her head to me, the look on her face so pitiful, it would melt even the iciest of hearts. "Then, what shall we do?"

"We ignore them. We love and are proud of our daughter," I said vehemently. "Any fool who dares to think otherwise when I'm around shall have red ribbons at his funeral* when I'm done with them." Comfortingly, I kissed her cheek, then moved the sleeve of her dress away so I would be able to kiss the bare skin on her shoulder. "We will be fine. Abby will be fine. I'll make sure that all of us will be. I'd rather be damned than watch my family in shreds."

* * *

In the next weeks following my return home to Madagascar, Claretta and I, as you may say, fell into a 'normal routine' most couples have when they have a baby. As soon as the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, Claretta and I were awake, getting ready for the day. We usually ate breakfast first before we woke Abigail up. When we did, one of the first things we did was check her nappy. Seeing that Claretta had done this for three months straight while I was gone, I took responsibility of doing nappy business. I could say that it was much easier changing Abby that it was changing Jackie when he was a baby, though I soon grew to miss the fond memories of baby Jackie peeing on my clothes while I tried changing him when I changed Abby. Then, when Claretta had fed Abby, she would work around the house and in the garden, while I, because during then I was still the Pirate Lord of Madagascar, would help regulate the stolen goods coming into Madagascar, usually with Abigail in my arms. At first, there were many whispers and looks exchanged from the other pirates when they saw me with Abby, but I chose to ignore them and go ahead with my work as I would normally, while looking after Abigail. Then, during lunch, I would head back to the house, where Abigail stayed with her mother for the rest of day while I went back to the docks. Then, at night, as soon as the sun set, Abigail was put to bed. Usually, she would wake up about two times during the night, so I would be the one to check on her first, while Claretta was the second.

All the while, Abigail, despite her birthmark, was acting and growing like any other baby her age. She became very attached to me very quickly after I first met her, mostly because she liked pulling on my long beard and hair to see the little charms I had in them. She was very chubby, with an adorable, thick arms and legs, with a round face and belly to compliment the rest of her tiny, pudgy body. Though looking exactly like her mother, it was made clear that she had my personality; she was usually content, but whenever something someone did that she disagreed with, she would become extremely fussy and foul-tempered. She seemed, throughout it all, a very happy baby.

However, one day, we had an unexpected visitor that came to our house just before we put Abigail to bed. Claretta and I were in the living room, she breastfeeding Abby, while I sat in front of the fireplace in my favorite chair, strumming on my guitar, when we heard a loud knock on the door. Claretta turned to where the front door was, saying, "Who in the world is paying us a visit at this time of day?"

I put my guitar down and motioned her to stay in her seat. "Sit and let Abigail finish. I'll see who's at the door."

Getting up, I made my way to the door and looked through the peep-hole first. Surprised, yet a little irritated, I opened the door to face Calypso yet again. "Tia, dear, what are you doing here?" I asked politely, despite being aggravated.

"I will not be long," she answered, and I saw that the anxious look was in her eyes again. "Please, close the door; I don't want the wife to hear."

Baffled, I closed the door behind as I went outside. "What is it this time, my dear?"

"It is your daughter again," she answered. "She has not been sick at all, yes?"

"No, she seems perfectly healthy," I shook my head. "Listen, Tia,--"

"No Captain Teague!" Tia cried, grabbing onto my arm. "Please listen to me when I say this; though it may seem as though nothing can be possibly be wrong with little Abby today, it will not be like that for a very long time--"

"Tia, Tia, please listen to me," I said in an even-toned voice, trying to sound reasonable. "I understand that you're probably concerned about her because of her birthmark, but Claretta said that the local medicine man said there was nothing to worry about. Maybe your runes were runes were wrong--"

"Trust me, Captain Teague," Tia now had a nasty snarl scrawled across her face. "That medicine man is wrong; there _is _something wrong with little Abby, and you will see soon!"

"Teague, what's going on out there? Who is that?" I heard Claretta call from inside. Then, I heard Abigail beginning to bawl.

"Claretta, stay in there!" I ordered sternly. I turned to Tia, anger boiling inside of me. "When will we realize Abigail's sick, Tia? When?" I asked, acrid.

"You will see tomorrow, for yourself," she pointed past my shoulder. "You will finally see just some of what will make little Abby's life a living hell tomorrow! And I will tell you only now that you should be more careful with the wife as well…she says more of want you want to hear than you should hear! But both of you will realize what is truly inside her heart eventually!"

I stood there, too dumbfounded to even slap her. She looked at me with maddening eyes, then, silently turned and left into the darkness.

* * *

*shall have red ribbons at his funeral--An old Irish saying, for ill will; wearing red ribbons to a funeral was usually associated with someone who was murdered


End file.
